Whispers 1a: Whispers
by scribblemyname
Summary: Romy drabbles. They spend their last night awake on the porch swing together.
1. Whispers

**Summary:** 100 drabbles of 100 words each loosely following the development of a relationship between Rogue and Remy.

**A/N: **Thanks to **Green Peridot** and **PlonkerOnDaLoose** for minor edits and helping me rearrange these drabbles. If the review page doesn't match up with the chapter, just know that I displaced the original chapter into a new location. Please enjoy!

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There's something different about the way he whispers. Something different in those urgent whispers as he draws his hand from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Something different from the appreciative glances, lewd compliments, and in-your-face flirting he gives the other girls.

Something that makes her stop noticing when Bobby glances at Kitty. Stop staring at her boyfriend wistfully. Stop regretting the Cure.

Something that makes her blush every time that Remy looks at her. Something that lights a fire in her belly when he slides up behind her in some dark corner—and whispers.


	2. Glances

It started with glances.

The first time Rogue saw Remy LeBeau, he was leaning on the banister staring at Kitty with a cocky smirk. His red eyes drank in the smaller girl, almost undressing her, but not quite so brazen.

Rogue had been uninterested, but Remy glanced at her and blinked in surprise before continuing his conversation.

Since then, whenever she walks into the same room with him, he glances over, then returns to what he was doing.

If he would stare, she could brush him off. If he would leer, she could ignore him. But he doesn't.

He glances.


	3. Touches

They seemed innocent at first.

Touching her on the shoulder to get her attention. Brushing past her in a crowded room. Making contact while training in the Danger Room. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

They progressed.

Tracing her contours before she even noticed his closeness. Brushing a kiss across her knuckles while whispering, "You're _belle_." Pulling back her hair into a ponytail for her before a training session. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

She'd catch the brightening of crimson eyes and catch her breath in anticipation.

Touches turned to whispers. Whispers turned to touch.


	4. Charges

She should be afraid of him and what he can do.

With a cocky grin, he charges his cards and brings down his enemies in flashes of light. With a casual word, he charges a room with tension of one kind or another. He charges relationships, conversations, tempers.

He charges her.

With his skillful fingers, he sets her glowing and sparks in her stomach, her arms, her sides. The air grows hot with what's going to be.

They won't get the gloves off. They're going to burn.

She _should_ be afraid of him and what he can do.

She isn't.


	5. Draws

She was dealt a bad hand.

Well, it was decent to begin with, but then she drew a new power, name, and life. She became Rogue.

Now, she lines up her cards to draw again. This time, it's her decision to fling aside mutation, family, and boyfriend, holding only to her Logan card. She, _Rogue_, selects her cards this time.

With the Cure, she draws touch. With hard training, she draws her X-Man missions. With dumping Bobby, she draws freedom.

She hesitates on the final card, then finally reaches for what is offered.

Her opening gambit.

The King of Hearts.


	6. Encounters

The first card crowns her pillow beside a white rose. The Queen of Hearts.

She encounters another by her sink with a chocolate kiss. An Ace falls out of her book with a gilt-edged bookmark. A bracelet tangles with the Jack of Diamonds in her drawer. Another card falls out of her purse attached to a silken scarf.

Rogue encounters him in the kitchen that night.

"Are you wooing me?"

He holds out a long-stemmed red rose and her last card, the King of Hearts. "Is it working?"

He leans in close enough to mingle their breath.

She breathes, "Yes."


	7. Tangles

Somehow, she ends up claimed.

Gloved hands tangle in her brown hair as they watch a movie in the media room with the rest of the group. He likes to play with the white strands the best. She falls asleep tangled in his arms after grading papers. She breathes his restless thoughts into her dreams when he tells her his secrets.

Tangled promises keep them moving forward. Tangled knots of fear and nervous anticipation keep them pulling back.

Sometimes she tries worrying away at the knot to see what makes them tick, but all she ends up with are tangles.


	8. Wishes

"Making wishes?"

Remy's hands are always restless. She finds him charging the petals off a carnation, one petal at a time. He smiles and offers her the flower.

Rogue kneels down and expertly pulls each petal and blows them away on her whispered wishes.

"The Cure for me is permanent."

"I'll be married in my mother's wedding dress."

"Motherhood. More than one child."

"Xavier's dream comes true."

"I get two years behind a white picket fence."

His hand settles on hers and stops her. His eyes are full of something when he charges off the last petal and says, "Rogue."


	9. Fights

He always was a fighter.

She loves to do the dance around him in the danger room. He lets the cards fly through his fingers, weaves through bullets and lasers, and takes on the grace of a predator.

His red eyes always glow like _le diable blanc_ when she gets in and fights him.

Tumbles and contacts, flirts and teases, solid connections. The world shrinks to Gambit and Rogue, until one of them pins the other beneath their sweaty body. He smirks at her as indecently whether he's on top or bottom.

He likes it when she wins their fights.


	10. Scars

Remy always wears gloves. But in the privacy of his room, she strips them off and traces the scars with her fingers, her mouth. He cannot understand why she loves them.

How can she explain to him that the Cure took away her ability to absorb him, but not what she had absorbed? That what Sinister took from him was not the pain or the memories, only the ability to make more?

He's fought for control, for the right to touch, for the ability to keep his own loved ones safe.

Bobby's and Cody's scars never meant anything.

Remy's do.


	11. Catches

She is captive in her love. He wove words and touches across her skin and breathed into her heady desire.

He'll never let her go.

He catches her in the tangled web of present danger, painful past, and guarded hope of a future that he is. She catches him, yelling, from his dreams and guards others from his secrets.

Fear for him turns to anger.

He catches her in his arms and holds her so she cannot run or fight him. Finally, they just make love.

Rogue sighs into his skin.

She is trapped and does not want to escape.


	12. Shivers

"Cold, chère?"

Rogue is shivering on the front porch steps as she drinks in the grounds' winter wonderland.

She nods and the Cajun stubs out his cigarette. He sits down behind her and wraps her in himself, working his trench coat to cover them both. The heat of his body, the smell of cinnamon and cigarettes, his intoxicating nearness wash over her. His warm breath and stubble tickle the back of her neck. She shivers again, for a different reason.

"Remy?"

"Chère…" He breathes out the name, like a prayer.

She closes her eyes.

"We should do this more often."


	13. Grasps

His grasp of her is so tenuous. It frightens him how quickly he could lose everything. Her smile. Her touch. The silky strands of white running through her hair.

What he had with Bella was so certain, so sure. But this is entirely on his own merits.

Those merits never included trust.

He finds he can't stop touching her, can't stop holding her, can't stop finding reasons to keep her near. If only to prove to himself that what he grasps is real and lasting.

He's all too afraid he'll wake up and it will all have been a dream.


	14. Slumbers

He's not quite sure when it went from her falling asleep in the middle of something to her going to sleep at the end of something to her staying to sleep after starting something.

He watches her slumber, cuddling her close and whispering to her loving things. He sleeps better when she's watching.

"Maybe you could just stay, non?" He shuffles his cards to hide his nervousness.

She shifts her head in his lap and looks up. "Like move in?"

"Oui."

She smiles and his world shrinks to the most belle green eyes he has ever seen.

"I'd like that."


	15. Brushes

It's the little touches that mean so much to Rogue. They're nearly his undoing.

Her emerald eyes sparkle as she brushes the hair from his eyes, grazing his skin with her fingertips. She steps too close when he opens the door for her. He never tells her it drives him crazy. She brushes against him in the crowded elevator and twines her fingers with his when walking near him.

He pulls her roughly into his arms, not content with brushes and whispered touches.

She laughs and checks his chin for stubble.

It's the little whispered brushes that mean so much.


	16. Exchanges

She dims the lights at the end of the evening. After grading papers and planning classes, they put aside their work and she tucks her body in against his.

She exchanges favorite childhood memories for the demons of his past. She curls her fingers around his protectively.

He tells her of Tante Mattie and his and his brother and cousins' antics. She tells of Magneto and Ellis Island and the voices and personalities in her head that haunt her yet. He fists his hand in her white hair.

Somehow, the horror of their memories fades in these simple, quiet exchanges.


	17. Sighs

He knows just how to extract them.

A push here. A nip there. Murmurs into the silky curve of her skin. She sighs his name in a warm heat across his neck. Her sighs caress him as he draws them out with his hands. Her breaths, her gasps, and her gentle moans belong to him. The idea, the very thought, of this beautiful creature unable to touch is indecent and violates all that is right. Rogue is his.

"Remy." She intoxicates him with her lovely voice. "I love you."

He buries his face against her and sighs in utter contentment.


	18. Talks

Their little talks rarely develop innocently. Remy isn't complaining.

It's usually his fault.

But she laughs outright when he tells her his idea of a first date—the kind that doesn't end in a tumble with a stranger.

"A motorcycle ride!"

"Oui," he replies drily, then leans back with a sigh. "Maybe watch the sunset. Never did that with a femme. Never wanted to…"

Before.

Rogue and Remy haven't had a first date. They just...happened.

She sobers suddenly and slides herself into his lap, her eyes darkening with secrets.

(And he thought this talk would be innocent?)

"I'd go dancing."


	19. Changes

He's started to change her.

Remy hadn't considered what his being with Rogue would actually do to her. He watches her become a more dangerous opponent, a more lenient teacher, and a more trusting friend. Her eyes grow fiery when anyone criticizes him and he uneasily wonders if his enemies are becoming hers.

But she smiles more, laughs more, touches more. She isn't afraid. Isn't that good?

The changes in him are greater. He's stopped looking at other women, stopped fighting so much, stopped drinking so much. He's drunk enough on her.

Wary and reluctant, he cannot help but change.


	20. Dances

Dancing with Rogue is nothing like dancing with Bella.

With Bella it was the stiff, formal dress, the traditional dances of the Guilds. But with Rogue…

It's all heat and friction and the sparkle of her laughter as the sun slips slowly down in a blaze of glory. He wants to tell her that this is them—like the skies above them. This is what she does in him.

He cannot find the words.

But she tucks herself behind him on the motorcycle to return home, her laughter lilting across the heavens like the beams of a sunset.

She knows.


	21. Wonders

He wonders at the way she fits against him, at how she only draws even closer where others walk away. He wonders at how she can get so angry at him, green eyes flashing, slender hands on the curves of her hips, her accent thick as she lets him have it, and then minutes later, she's all his again, tucked into his arms, and murmuring pleasantly in his ear.

He wonders at her welcoming smiles, her comforting arms, her easily riled temper. What lies behind those sparkling eyes?

She is his Rogue, his fire, his love.

Sometimes he just wonders.


	22. Flavors

"Too much cayenne."

"Not for where I'm from, ma chèrie."

"Well, we're not _where_ you're from, swamp rat."

Remy chuckles low in his throat and wraps "his chèrie" in his arms, tucking her to him. She huffs but lingers in his embrace.

"I said that too first time I tasted _real_ gumbo," he admits, then grins wickedly. "Got a taste for spice after Tante Mattie got through with me."

"Oh, really?" Rogue drawls.

"Oui, ma chère." He nips her ear. "For sugar and spice and all that's nice."

And she's laughing with him until he kisses her, enjoying the flavor.


	23. Brands

He wears the brand, the mark of the Rogue.

She brands him with her touch, searing herself deep into his skin. Her heat warms his skin when she has already withdrawn. The sweet scent of her perfume, her shampoo, her lotion lingers in his clothes and his body.

She's marked him more indelibly than Sinister, more irrevocably than the Guild, more passionately than ever Bella Donna did. Her claim on him is complete and startling. Where once his aura rang with promiscuous charm, now it speaks he is one of two.

This is love. This is forever.

This is _real_.


	24. Looks

It was her eyes.

The way they flashed the first time he'd seen her standing on the stairs looking down at him. There'd been a fire that startled him, like lightning reaching out to strike him. He kept looking then, watching her looks to feel it again.

The way they burn when she is angry, smolder when she desires him, brighten and sparkle when she needs his comfort, darken and deepen, drawing him in, when she is afraid.

The way they speak without her needing words, hold him before she can touch him, smile at him.

He loves her eyes.


	25. Reaches

She reaches out her fingers as if to touch the sky. She sighs.

Strong arms wrap around her waist and Remy settles behind her, dropping his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. They don't speak. They don't move. They just sit there, crouched on the edge of a bluff with the wind and the sun and the sky.

"Chère," he mumbles against her, stubble scraping her skin, his breath warm.

She shudders at the nearness.

"I—" He starts to say it, almost does. He sighs, nuzzling her instead, kissing her shoulder.

She answers softly, "I know."


	26. Words

He words things carefully, trying to get out the feelings if nothing else.

Rogue listens between the jokes, the silences, the whispered confessions: all the words they say. Lines of emotion, not always so clearly drawn.

She sees the words in his eyes, feels them in his tender embrace, wonders sometimes what keeps them trapped inside him so they can't escape.

She says the words to him and runs her fingers gently through his long hair, combing the soft, messy strands of auburn. "Remy, I love you."

He sighs and buries his face against her.

He cannot say the words.


	27. Dreams

She had given up dreams with the arrival of her mutation. All the things she wanted to do, the places she wanted to see, the love she wanted to have were put aside. She had never felt it was safe to pull them down again.

Until now.

Dreams of traveling, seeing places completely unlike her Mississippi home. Dreams of a home of her own to come back to, one she'd planned and made for herself. Dreams of a lover to share it with. Dreams of children laughing on a swing in the back yard.

She could dream again.

With Remy.


	28. Drinks

"Don't tell me you really know the names of more than two hundred alcoholic drinks?"

"Oui..."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Non." Remy seems genuinely puzzled.

She laughs softly. "You, Rems, have got to get a life." She shakes her head ruefully.

He looks a trifle annoyed now. "I _have_ a life, chère. With you." She sobers under the bright intensity of his eyes. "I drank to _forget_."

"And now?" she whispers.

He shrugs and glances away. "Acquired the taste."

"You've cut back a lot…"

"I don't _have_ to forget." The intensity is back. "I _have_ a life, chère. With you."


	29. Traps

He wraps her in his arms, tumbling them together across the sheets to her giggling protests. His red eyes capture hers, glowing with heat, promise, and desire. His mouth ensnares her, tantalizing her senses with artful kisses, whispered words of affection, and playful nips.

She wrangles with him for a better position but is trapped beneath the hard weight of his body as he smirks down at her.

Always, he catches her in his traps. Always, she goes unresisting.

She flips them over, her heavy hair tumbling across his shoulders, and he traps his hands in the tangled strands, unresisting.


	30. Dreams II

She wakes in a cold sweat.

Strong arms tighten around her, holding her flush against a lean, hard chest. Soft lips nuzzle her neck.

"Jus' a dream, chèrie."

Rogue scrambles over in his embrace so she can look into his red eyes, glowing in the darkness. She breathes out softly, then tucks both hands behind his head, relishing the soft feel of his hair.

"And yours, Remy? Are they just dreams?"

His eyes burn even redder, more intense. He pulls her closer.

"Oui, ma chère," he answers almost into her mouth. "_You're_ real."

She strains to hear.

"They jus' dreams."


	31. Feels

There's something in the way he holds her, something in the way he looks at her, calling out something deeper than what Bobby ever did. The feelings are so close then, like all she has to do is touch and she'll be touching _him_, his heart, his soul.

And it isn't about touch, this heat beneath her fingertips. It's about him and what lies beneath, the words, the whispers, the thoughts gliding into something more. Not about the scars, but about the pain. Not about the skin, about the trust.

And the feel of him is, barely, just enough.


	32. Smells

She likes to wear his shirts. The button-ups over her own tiny tees. His t-shirts for casual and work.

She likes how his scent clings to her skin in the fabric throughout the day and loves how they smell of cinnamon, _real_ cinnamon, and cigarettes and burning and wind and the hot sun and bourbon and motor oil and honey and rain and _him_…

When she comes to bed, he wastes no time in stripping them off to reveal the lovely things he gives her underneath. She laughs and pulls him close to drink him in.

"You smell good, sugah."


	33. Cuddles

Remy is definitely not made for cuddles.

He's meant for fire and heat and passion. For burning in the night. For teases during the day. Not for snuggles and warmth and quiet giggles and platonic touches.

But here he is with Rogue, curling up with her on the rainy days in the library or on the couch in the media room or in the big comfy chair in their room. They cuddle. They talk. Simple pleasures.

She watches his head bend intently over a book he'd never been interested in and can't help but think he does it for her.


	34. Compliments

He takes every opportunity to slip those flattering compliments against her skin.

He brushes them against her collar bone just above her shirt. He murmurs into the nape of her neck. He tucks more in close behind her ear.

He flatters her that she is perfect. Tells her he loves her eyes, how they sparkle like emerald fire. Whispers how soft her hair is, how he loves the white against the brown. Strokes her curves and finds them without compare. Delights in her personality, even when she is angry or willfully resisting him.

"Charmer," she mutters.

"Only for you, chèrie."


	35. Heats

Heat radiates off of his body, infuses his skin. She doesn't know why he is always warm and toasty but she knows how to read what it means.

His skin burns when he desires her. It's like warm stones lying in the sun when he's content. He feels like a thick blanket when he sleeps. It's like a fever when he's working. Restless charge makes getting too close an invitation to sweat.

But best of all is the heat like a furnace when he stares at her with all the intensity he is and she knows the warmth of love.


	36. Stays

She moves gently under the covers, starts to slide out, and feels a responsive tightening around her waist, trapping her firmly.

"Remy," she protests. "I have an appointment with Logan. I have to go." She pushes futilely at his arm.

"Non," comes the muffled reply.

"Remy!"

He grips her tighter, then rolls her under the covers, moving on top of her and settling his head against hers.

"Maybe you could just stay, non?"

Her heart softens with memory and she mentally blows off her training partner, remembering all her stays in what was once just Remy's room.

"I'd like that."


	37. Tastes

She tastes like sugar.

The word that graces her tongue when she's feeling playful or feeling southern. The flavor of her coffee every morning, the flavor of the sweetness in her tea.

She tastes like spices.

Like the Cajun food he's given her has become a part of who she is. Like the fiery temper she was born with has a taste that he can lick and kiss and breathe.

She tastes heady like desire, full like satisfaction, light like hopes and promises. He finds her when he can and draws her in to taste her.

She tastes like home.


	38. Flushes

"I see." She blows a stray strand of her white hair out of her eyes.

He chuckles at her frustration and wraps his arms around her to reach the tools, whispering instructions in her ear. His front presses tightly against her back.

"Sorry to say this, Rems," she drawls, "but running a radiator flush ain't that sexy."

He laughs outright at that and he catches her smiling.

They bend over their work together and he studies her hopelessly lost look as he walks her through all the wonders of cars.

He cannot help but think she does this for him.


	39. Cares

There are things she only does for him.

She exposes her secrets for him to view, shares her fears, and allows him to save her. His fiery southern belle has stood alone for so long, she does not need help, does not want it. But for him, she'll play the damsel in distress. She'll let him cook for her, let him keep her in bed when she's sick, let him do all the little things that a gentleman should.

The Rogue and the Gambit. Fighters and loners.

Together they are a man and a woman. For them, that is enough.


	40. Wants

The thrill of the chase. Catching the sunlight in her fingers. Victory in a mission.

The things she delights in are many and varied, from the fiery way she holds her own in battle to the tussles with him for the remote.

A warm lover. A good book. Hot cocoa on winter days. Cool lemonade in the summer. A ring for her hand.

The things she wants are far more reaching, far more simple.

He never even wanted to ask Bella Donna what she wanted, but for Rogue…

"Tell me what you want, chèrie, and I'll give it to you."


	41. Hands

He gladly hands her the keys of his heart.

His love, his desire, his room, his life.

He gives her everything he has, even his memories, save a few. The only thing he keeps from this beautiful creature who stands beside him and holds his sanity in her open hands is the blood his hands have shed. The blood that stains his hands, he will never allow to touch her, to mar her perfect, unburdened skin.

She has never borne his unspeakable sins and never will, if he can keep even one promise.

He secretly vows to her, _Never again_.


	42. Lights

He needs to just feel her sometimes. To comfort himself in the night. To remember that this is real.

His life has walked the road of darkness until happiness never feels real to him. Being yanked off the streets of New Orleans changed him from cursed devil to applauded thief. Julien's blood running into the street sent Remy into exile, lost from love, family, and home. Slaughtered hundreds in the blast of his powers led to his darkened road and only more slaughter.

For once, he's moving toward light again and he holds her close, reminding himself this is real.


	43. Tussles

"I'm going to skin your gumbo-eatin' carcass alive and feed it to the 'gators, you hear me?"

Remy grins cockily up at her as she tightens her arms around him, fingers scrabbling behind his back for the remote.

He chuckles at her. "I think you're giving me the wrong idea, chère."

She huffs, blowing a snowy lovelock out of her eyes, and they continue to tussle. She slides one hand distractingly lower.

"Rogue!"

"Aha!" She holds the remote triumphantly aloft.

Remy grumbles as she flips the channel from ESPN back to her chick flick.

"Quit grousing."

"You cheated!"

She grins.


	44. Exhales

Long, slow exhales mingle in the cool night breeze.

He tugs her warmth closer to him and tightens his arms around her waist. Her soft hair brushes against his chin and she burrows against him. He's wrapped his trench coat around them both and her gentle flowery scent, the soft heat of her, the whispered sighs of her breath are so close he can taste their nearness and silent intimacy.

He blows softly on her ear. She tenses, then relaxes further into him and cuddles closer.

He catches in his breath for a moment.

"Je t'aime, ma chèrie."

He exhales.


	45. Blushes

She has never lost her shyness.

She still blushes beneath him when he compliments her in bed. The blood still rises to her cheeks, flushes her limbs as he pushes her boundaries, teases her with gentle words, and plays with the line between acceptable romantic behavior in public and borderline indecent flirting.

He likes to see her ivory skin bloom with color when his easy words and knowing smirk imply too much and to hear her soft, shy laughter when he tells her all the things they will do when he gets her alone.

He likes to see her blush.


	46. Treasures

He prizes her, his treasure.

Her laugh. Her smiles. Her heart. For once, something he didn't steal.

She wasn't handed to him like the family of the Guild. Wasn't forced on him like the prophecies and curses of _le diable blanc_. Wasn't stolen by him like all the things that never mattered except for the thrill.

He has earned this, the right to hold her, treasure her, touch her, kiss her white and brown hair, and whisper in her ear. He has earned her love, her trust, her hand clenched tight in his.

He promises to never let her go.


	47. Shudders

He isn't paying much attention to the television until the warm body curled up in his arms suddenly shudders. The head resting on his shoulder straightens. Fingers and nails dig painfully into his arm.

Remy watches with her.

"Twenty-eight cases have been reported of mutations returning to those who were Cured."

His world stops cold.

He grips her hard, his angel, his Rogue, clutching her to him before she can run. She trembles and shudders with the shock.

"Remy," she whispers.

He hushes her, holds her close. With one hand, he fumbles for the remote and turns off the news.


	48. Raises

She bet it all on him.

Her hopes, her dreams, her future have been passed with perfect trust into the hands of a gambler and a thief, and Remy knows it. So now, with the shattering of Rogue's own secure promise of a good life after all the grief her mutation gave her, it's only tests and Hank and hypotheses and watching the news with anxious dread. She holds to him, clings to him through it all.

She's bet it all, even if it isn't enough, and she's looking to him to bring her a return.

And so he raises.


	49. Retreats

Rogue has tried so hard not to be a person defined by touch. But still, she finds herself retreating, hiding away from her friends, her peers, Logan, even Remy. She looks for places where even he can't find her.

He always does.

He doesn't say anything, just draws her into his arms with a soft shushing sound, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. He holds her until she calms and finally, leans into him, accepts his touch.

At first, she hid, searching for a place of rest. She knows now that whenever she retreats, her haven will find her.


	50. Counts

She catches him making counts and figures, scribbling on a piece of paper. He's muttering aloud, completely engrossed in his work. Remy doesn't get like this often. He doesn't notice her as she slips behind him and looks at the worn sheet.

By now, Rogue recognizes the scientific formula denoting the Cure. She doesn't understand the charts he's drawn with time tables and dosage amounts.

"Sugah?"

Remy whirls around, blinking at her. He hands her the paper. She looks at it, confused. At the bottom circled are the words _two years_.

She stares.

Her wish. Two years. Two children.

"Counting."


	51. Hopes

Rogue spends too many hours in the medical bay, but Hank and Remy are so certain. She's starting to feel their contagious hope. It bubbles over in her when they pore over tests and test results and plot the amount of Cure her body can handle.

_Two years_, the words pound in her head like a mantra. _Two years_.

It isn't much compared to forever, but it's hers and Remy's and something to fight for. The three of them keep at the tests and results, the studying and hoping, looking for the right amounts and the right times.

_Two years_.


	52. Embraces

Nightmares meet her in the night. She cannot touch, cannot love. Remy leaves her bleeding heart on the ground. She wakes with strangled cries, only to find his arms are tight around her, one hand woven into her hair.

"Je t'aime, chère," he whispers, embracing her. "You're all right. I got you."

She clings to him and lets him wash her fear away.

At odd moments during the day, he pulls her to him, tucks her into his arms, his chin on her head, and just holds her. His warm embrace, possessive, comforting, protective, says everything she needs to hear.


	53. Runs

Remy dumps out a suitcase on their bed, and she looks up startled from her papers.

"What are you doing?" Rogue asks.

"There's this poem," he tells her, even as he's pulling out clothes from their drawers and closet, packing them in. "'Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.'"

"What are you talking about?" Still bewildered.

Remy stops then, goes to her, and takes her face in his hands. "You taken the dose?"

She nods.

"Sun ain't standing still, chèrie," he says softly.

She sucks in her breath.

"Let's make him run."


	54. Urges

He tells her to follow her urges. She tells him to just keep driving.

They drive anywhere the road will take them, stopping at the prettiest scenic overlooks and lingering. At night, they make love in the backseat of the car. It's an urgent thing. She _needs_ to feel him, hold him, taste him—while she still can. They fall asleep with tangled limbs, breathing each other's breaths and dreaming each other's dreams.

She urges him to wake when the sun's first rays shine into the car and watch it rise.

"He's running," she says.

And then she kisses him.


	55. Dresses

Her Aunt Carrie isn't happy to see them but allows them in. Rogue slips quietly upstairs and into the attic. She shakes out her mama's wedding dress from its careful wrappings and tries it on while Remy watches, leaning against the wall.

She feels like a little girl again when she used to dress herself in all her mama's clothes. But she's a woman now and fills out the dress. White organdy and lace cling to her curves.

She gives a small smile as she twirls in front of him.

She cannot read the intense expression in his crimson eyes.


	56. Caresses

They flaunt tradition by dressing together.

She smooths his tie unnecessarily. He tucks a gentle kiss against her throat. They caress each other naturally, a part of their morning rituals for so long it would be impossible to go without. His fingers slide down around her waist. Her body whispers against him.

He tugs her close against him and she comes willingly.

"I love you," he breathes, his words a sweet caress.

Her fingers brush against the curve of his jaw, then she leans her head against his shoulder with a soft sigh and whispers back, "I love you too."


	57. Vows

She still feels giddy from what she and Remy have done in front of a judge today. She lies awake and thinks about all that has happened.

She's made her vows to the man of her dreams.

She made so many wishes like the spoiled girl she was, never realizing how perfectly precious every blessing she had already was. And _he_ gave them to her, every one within his power, wrapped up in white lace and a golden ring.

"Remy, you have me," Rogue vows into her sleeping husband's ear. Even unconscious, he tightens his arms around her. "I'm yours."


	58. Needs

She twines her fingers into his, needing to feel his closeness.

Rogue wishes away these tiny distances between them: the island in the front seat of the car, the space between their two chairs at a diner. At night, they close the gap and hold each other as if the world will stop if they don't.

She doesn't ask him where they're going or how much nearer the miles behind them have brought them. She leans in closer, holds his hand tighter while he guides the wheel with his other. They wear no gloves.

She needs to feel his nearness.


	59. Fences

"What are you doing, Remy?" she asks, a laugh in her voice.

"Up a step." His hands are over her eyes. He guides her forward with his body, then leans close to whisper in her ear. "Jus' trust me, chérie."

He pulls his hands away.

She's standing on a wide porch overlooking a beach. A white picket fence runs around the little house with its garden and its porch. She turns around and around then lands both arms on Remy's chest and kisses him.

He laughs against her mouth. "Two years behind a white picket fence," he whispers.

He remembered.


	60. Lists

Rogue is quick to put their nest in order. She ships Remy off several times a day with a new list of chairs or curtains or sheets or dishes—"Never mind. I want to pick those myself."—or tables or books or throws or pillows to buy and bring back and "Help me move this," and "Sugar, help me up."

Remy laughs and hoists her up in his arms so she can fuss over the plant in a soffet.

"Why not just buy a ladder?" he asks.

She spares a moment to glare at him, then hands him another list.


	61. Sounds

He likes the sounds of her flying about the house, making sure everything is perfect.

She hums as she cooks or cleans and puts away the brand new plates. Sizing up a wall draws out her muttered thoughts before she's happily singing, hammering nails, and hanging pictures. He likes the sound of her voice calling him from another room to give his opinion or help her achieve the effect she wants.

He likes it best when she curls up beside him under the sheets and murmurs lovingly before drifting off to sleep. Her breaths are soft and even, a soothing sound.


	62. Holds

He's restless.

Years have driven him, restless wanderer, exile, from place to place, family to family since his failed wedding and subsequent trial. Remy was only a teenager when they cast him out from New Orleans and his dreams of finally having a family that was _his_. He wonders vaguely if he's forgotten how to dream it.

He hears Rogue behind him, padding out onto the porch, tightening her robe against the evening's chill. Her warm arms slide up around him, and she presses her head against his back.

He lets her hold him, knowing she won't let him go.


	63. Trusts

It's little things that tell him everything has changed. She's settled now, singing around the house, seeking him out at odd moments, learning to trust.

Ever since they learned the Cure is failing, he's seen the half-felt fear, unacknowledged but waiting just below the surface.

It didn't vanish when he slipped a ring on her finger or when he vowed to love her even after they can no longer touch. It fades slowly—when he touches her, holds her, seeks her out anyway, and in the days they pass as man and wife.

It is a gentle thing, this trust.


	64. Laughs

He tickles her breathless just to hear her laugh.

It's especially effective after she's been huffing about his irksome personal habits, like leaving dirty clothes on the floor (to watch her bend over to pick them up, blowing that pretty white strand of hair out of her flashing green eyes), like smoking inside (to watch her hurry to open the window against his shoulder—gets her near him, non?), and like snatching the remote and holding it hostage (always good for a tussle).

"You do that on purpose, don't you?" she accuses, once the laughter has settled.

Remy just laughs.


	65. Tries

On the outside, little has changed. He doesn't wear condoms; she doesn't take pills. But there's a hopefulness and expectancy in their lovemaking that wasn't there before.

Remy finds himself wondering what their children might look like, be like. He watches Rogue mark off the days on her calendar. Twenty-four x's. She's starting to get giddy.

They talk.

They were raised so differently, and he's surprised at all the things they don't agree on about raising kids. But arguments turn to lovemaking, which brings them back to hope.

"We'll make it work," Rogue says.

"Oui, chère."

He knows they'll try.


	66. Smiles

He wakes to see her leaning over him, the sweetest smile on her face.

"Mornin', sugar," she says softly.

He slides his hands up the smooth warmth of her back, relishing the feel of her against him.

She leans into his touch. He kisses her gently and she draws it out, warming him through.

Then she pulls away.

Her eyes are sparkling, enticing him to ask her why.

He doesn't rush. Not this. First he runs his hands over her skin, tracing invisible patterns before settling them at her waist.

His eyes flick upward. "Oui?"

Her smile broadens.

"I'm pregnant."


	67. Calls

A/N: sorry for the break in the daily updates. sick and without computer access yesterday. wrote the last four chapters of the whole fic and made myself cry. here you go.

* * *

Remy thinks about saying she's racking up the long distance charges, but he sighs longsufferingly instead.

Rogue shoves him playfully on the shoulder and continues chattering and _giggling_ with Kitty. "Let me talk to Jubilee," she says, then flashes him a dimpled grin.

"Do you have to tell _every _girl in the mansion _personally?"_ Remy asks in exasperation.

She giggles again. He groans at the creature she morphs into for phone calls.

"Hey, Jubes."

Remy sighs, makes to leave, but she drags him back on the bed beside her.

"It'll just be a minute."

She said that three hours ago.


	68. Shops

Remy was warned about this, but it still catches him off guard. She asks him for sauerkraut and spaghetti and huffs at him when he stops and stares at her in shock.

That's followed by the pomegranate. He scours the town for _any_ store that carries _organic_ pomegranates and, finally locating the prize, brings it home to Rogue. She eats a few bites then loses interest.

She cleans out the refrigerator of perfectly good food in his absence, then she's hungry again, plaintively asking him to go shop for more.

The cashier knows him by both name and harried expression.


	69. Tells

Rogue has a hundred little tells.

Her fingers tuck back the wayward strands of white instead of her blowing them away from her face. She leans one hip against the wall or a piece of furniture, one hand on the other. Remy follows the line with his eyes. Her mouth closes straight without its sassy curves. She says 'mm-hmm' instead of 'sure, sugar.'

That's when Remy catches her and tucks her into bed.

She tells him she's fine, but he ignores her heated protests, silencing them with kisses, then stays with her watching until she drifts slowly away to sleep.


	70. Helps

He isn't sure how he got so protective.

His gaze brushes lovingly over the gentle swell of her stomach and the child inside. Rogue will catch him staring and smile back, even if she finds his attitude tiresome.

He won't let her lift things, always has to help. He makes sure she's eating enough, sleeping enough, staying off her feet. He does the shopping, the yardwork, the cleaning.

She sighs in exasperation when she manages to yank her laundry away from him to fold. "I'm fine," she says. "You don't have to help."

He can't help it. "Chère..."

"I'm _fine_."


	71. Promises

A/N: I only have eleven more chapters to write, so welcome to my posting spree. Please if you're feeling kind review all the chapters, not just the last one, but it's entirely up to you.

* * *

He whispers promises in her ear to love her, to cherish her, no matter what happens, no matter what comes. She promises she believes him.

For all the times they've fought or pulled away from each other, they still keep coming back. For every moment of 'worse' in their shared lives and marriage, they've found a 'better.' For every place they disagree, they've managed to find a compromise, and Remy knows now they'll make it through everything yet to come.

Rogue whispers in his ear the promise she will always be his. Remy promises her he will always be there.


	72. Thanks

They snuggle in on the couch in front of the fire together. Rogue lays her head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her, holding her close.

She sighs softly. "Remy."

"Chère?"

"Thank you."

The words give him pause. He gently brushes back the hair from her eyes. "For what, chérie?" he whispers against her.

Rogue snuggles closer into him. "For everything."

He follows her gaze around their house, the pictures full of memories, their hands clasped over their unborn child. He leans over and kisses her, savoring her open acceptance—and return.

"You're everything, chère," he whispers.


	73. Studies

She studies him sometimes. She wonders at the easy ways he uses to throw people off. Remy LeBeau is one of the smoothest liars and charmers she's ever met.

And yet...

He's not afraid to be dangerous or real or to firmly draw the line. He lets her see when he's worried or depressed, lets her feel his tenderness, his pleasures, lets her be a part of him. He shows her a face no one else gets to see.

Such a study of masks and faces they are underneath, the Rogue and the Gambit.

And yet their love is real.


	74. Lives

Rogue can't remember the last time she was this happy.

Before she became a mutant, she had dreamed of the little house and her husband's strong arms around her and this kicking on the inside of her stomach. Now she finds herself _living_ the dream, and it's even sweeter than she imagined.

Rogue hums some childhood melody as she folds clean laundry into the basket.

"What are y' doing?" Remy's voice breathes just behind her ear.

She's a little startled but smiles up at him. "Loving our lives, sugah." She nuzzles him on the chin and keeps right on folding.


	75. Cries

She didn't expect it to come so sharply, and she cries out when the pain wakes her from her dreams. "Remy!"

But Remy's already up beside her, asking what's wrong, holding her, checking her over with a worried expression.

"It's time," she says as soon as she can get out the words.

She's almost surprised at how fast he moves into action and gets them into the car and heading for the hospital. She _is_ surprised at how agonizingly fast, how torturously slow the whole thing is as she fights through screams and contractions until she hears her child's cry.


	76. Marvels

Her heart is full as she stares down at the tiny bundle in her arms. "She's perfect," Rogue marvels.

Remy runs one finger across the downy hair, the silky cheek, and then smiles when their daughter's fingers cling to his. Burning red eyes meet Rogue's. "Oui, she is."

They speak softly over the sleeping child, their eyes and hands saying so much more.

She is a marvel, this baby girl snuggled tenderly at her mother's breast. She has her mother's nose, her father's chin, and her own warm brown eyes.

Rogue kisses the long lashes, the tiny fist. "Love you."


	77. Screams

It's amazing to Rogue how fast Rebecca turns from an innocent-faced cherub into a demanding little night owl. Two hours would be generous between screams—if they ever got that much.

"That girl's got lungs," Remy comments on the fourth trip out of bed in as many hours on the third night.

It's Rogue's turn so she glares at him. "It would help if she wasn't awake," she snaps. "Then she'd only scream when she's hungry."

He looks at her, surprised. "And this is my fault?"

"You're the night owl."

Remy gives her a wicked grin. "Mais you're the screamer."


	78. Charms

They settle in quickly, Remy and Rogue and the baby, but sometimes Rebecca still fusses unhappily without apparent cause. Rogue pores over the baby books off and on and calls up Hank or Logan when those aren't enough.

"Logan ain't exactly my idea of a babysitter, chérie."

"Hush! What was that?" Rogue nods at Logan's explanation. "Sure, sugah."

Remy cuddles their fussing daughter.

Logan's given Rogue some good ideas, and she can usually calm Rebecca down quickly now. She hangs up to see Remy rocking the baby, now quiet.

"_Some_ people just abuse the charm," Rogue huffs.

He chuckles softly.


	79. Excuses

The first one was Jubilee. Then Kitty. Then Logan _twice_, and Storm and Hank and Piotr and... She wants to throw up her hands at the lot of them.

They offer plenty of excuses. "Well, you like _have_ to have a baby shower." "It's been the two of you and a newborn for weeks now. You need to get out. Go on a date." "I thought her major checkups should be administered by a physician fully aware of both of your mutant biologies."

They ought to just come out and say it, Rogue thinks. They're here to see the baby.


	80. Dates

Saturday nights have become a bit of a haven for Remy and her. Rebecca's down for the evening and there are plenty of volunteers all too willing to burn up some jet fuel and fly across an entire country to babysit the first child born to the X-Men.

She shakes her head ruefully, but she loves to be able to dress up for Remy again, dance with him, enjoy a magical night at dinner or a play or wherever else he thinks of to take her on a date. She is not even above thanking her meddlesome friends. Checkups indeed!


	81. Traces

He leaves traces of himself on her skin.

She feels the places his hands have been, where his breath has traced warm paths across her face and neck, where his caresses have burned her. They stay with her for hours on end, even when the night is over and both have settled in to sleep.

He has always been so tactile and she wakes to his touch, his warm embrace, their tangled dreams and hair and breath. She wonders if they could ever be closer.

She rises in the morning, goes about her day, but still she feels the traces.


	82. Fathers

She watches Remy when he plays with their daughter on the blanket she spread over the living room floor. It never stops amazing her how gentle he is. He tickles the baby on her tummy until she smiles and makes happy prattling noises. He counts her toes, tells her stories, snuggles her against him to compare heartbeats.

One time before they were married, Remy had told Rogue that he wanted to be a père. She thinks she'll tell him sometime he's a good one.

Rebecca smiles again.

Rogue ostensibly takes their playtimes to handle chores. Mostly, she watches Rebecca's father.


	83. Questions

The first niggling suspicions catch Rogue off guard. It couldn't happen _that_ fast.

Right?

She wakes up and rolls out of bed each morning feeling like she spent the previous night at a stormy sea. At breakfast, nothing can tempt her, not even Remy's Cajun cooking. He furrows his brow at her with concern. She feels off kilter and tired all the time. Rebecca seems oblivious to her mother's rapidly shifting moods and symptoms, but Rogue can see the questions beginning to dawn in Remy's watchful gaze.

Finally he asks her outright.

Rogue surprises them both by bursting into tears.


	84. Kicks

"He'll be a natural at savate," Rogue predicts while stirring the gumbo.

Remy looks up from chopping vegetables. "N'est ce pas?" He sets down the knife and slides around behind her, his hands settling against her rounded belly.

Rogue smiles when she feels the baby kick again. "Feel that?"

"Oui," he breathes against her.

"Want!" Rebecca cries out insistently from her high chair.

Remy sighs but goes to pick her up, carry her over, and lay her head against Rogue's stomach. "That's your brother, p'tite." He grins.

Rebecca grins toothlessly in return and at the kicks beneath her head. "Bwutha!"


	85. Rests

Remy doesn't often stop and count his blessings, but every once in a while, he lies awake after Rogue has drifted off and thinks on all he has gained.

Rogue is his _wife_, nestled against him, and their unborn son is growing below her heart. Rebecca rests in the nearby crib, his little princess. His _family_.

He isn't alone anymore, and it's a strange feeling to realize he's a husband, a father, an X-Man, and a friend.

Remy strokes his wife's cheek, runs his hand through the silky white hair framing her face. He has found his place of rest.


	86. Fears

This second birth went easier, something Remy is grateful for.

Never had he felt so helpless as when he heard Rogue crying out and screaming, and nothing at all he could do to help her. Every instinct said to fight, to protect, to save her. But there was nothing to save her from. Only the terrible fearing, waiting, until he hears the tiny cries of a newborn.

Even then, holding his child for the first time with Rogue's green eyes laughing, he can't help but feel that fleeting fear. He could have lost her.

"Je t'aime," he tells them both.


	87. Checks

Olivier is so quiet that Remy gets up every hour the first night just to check on him. The little boy is almost always tucked in sleepily and content. His hunger cries are quiet when they do come, but often enough, Remy is there just as Olivier's eyes flutter open and waving arms suffice for the need.

"He still there?" Rogue murmurs from beneath the covers on Remy's return from another unnecessary check.

Remy shrugs and crawls in beside her. "You sure this one's ours?"

Rogue chuckles softly, then rolls over to snuggle in close. "Last time I checked, sugar."


	88. Stops

Rogue is saying something from the bathroom and he's pretty sure he was responding when he suddenly stops, staring at the calendar on the wall by the dresser. For a long, terrible moment nothing exists, nothing but the realization that two years has somehow become two months, and then the world starts again. Remy draws a shattering breath.

"Remy?"

He turns toward the concern in Rogue's voice and, seeing her, pulls her to him roughly. He doesn't speak, just holds her like a drowning man clings to the rock.

"It's okay," she whispers, comforting him. "Remy, it's okay."

It isn't.


	89. Details

A/N: Yesterday's drabble seems to have confused a few people, but it's pretty simple: Remy lost track of time. He didn't realize so much had passed and the two years will soon be over.

* * *

He's the one that makes the call. Rogue is playing with Rebecca and Olivier on the living room floor, and he can hear the girls' laughter and Olivier's cheerful babble.

The phone rings twice.

"Hello," Logan answers brusquely.

Remy rakes one hand through his hair. "We're coming back in a couple months. Need to work out the details."

Logan says nothing for a long moment. Then he sighs. "Already, huh?"

The children are laughing. Irrelevant tiny details, like Olivier's cowlick, the sparkle in Rebecca's eye, a wayward curl of Rogue's draw Remy's eyes to watch them intently.

"Oui," he answers.


	90. Plans

They return to making plans. Remy would be surprised at how well she's taking it, but he's always lived for the moment and Rogue never has.

They prioritize. Rogue wants to stay home with the babies for a while, but Remy will fight with the X-Men. They both want Hank around to help cope with the children and her mutation. They lay out the schedule for their last week and the move. They plan a couple days in their own house after the Cure has worn off, then they'll drive back to Westchester.

Neither wants it to end too soon.


	91. Experiments

They experiment for a week of nights, playing with silk and fabric, and determine what they do and don't like for protection. Neither of them like to kiss through cloth, but their experiments in sleeping all night without making skin on skin contact seem to be more successful.

They try different methods for making love. It's safer to try it now, and Remy's surprised to find himself enjoying the challenge.

"I kind of like the element of danger," he tells her, winking.

Rogue shakes her head at him and mutters, "Masochist."

He smirks down at her. "Only for you, chère."


	92. Times

He insists on living every moment they have left and she agrees.

They play with the children, teach Rebecca how to float in the ocean, and make Olivier a sandy throne. Nights they spend wrapped up in each other, and Remy cannot bear to leave a single part of her untasted. They're making up a lifetime of memories and building a future full of whispered promises and a love that refuses to die.

He times his life by the beats of her heart and tells her the truth he's always known. "This thing between us, chère, never was about touch."


	93. Sways

A/N: I have finished the story! Spree or daily updates? Vote in reviews.

* * *

He leans against the frame of the door in the children's room and watches Rogue nestling Olivier against her shoulder.

"Just a dream, little one. I'm here. I've got you." She hushes him sweetly, nuzzling the top of his downy head. "Love you, little one. It's just a dream. I'm here."

With every gentle sway of her body, Olivier nestles in more contentedly.

Remy watches for a little while before drawing nearer to enfold her in his embrace. His arms slide under hers and hold them both. He listens to the low murmur of her voice. They sway gently together.


	94. Plays

It's no secret in the LeBeau household that Rebecca is extremely ticklish. She shrieks with laughter when Remy comes after her, moving slowly so she can crawl to safety in her mother's lap.

"I could be insulted at being the base, ya know," Rogue teases with a grin.

Olivier prefers to play airplane. Remy swings him around to see his delighted little smile that babies aren't supposed to be able to make, then watches Rogue toss their son into the air and catch him.

Remy stretches out wearily on the rug only to have Rebecca land on his chest.

"Pway!"


	95. Figures

Hank tells them for the first few weeks it won't be strong enough to be dangerous around the children or Remy. Remy watches Rogue's face carefully for her reaction. She's strong. He doesn't have to catch her then. "Gives us time, non?"

There is time to touch and feel their way into a new set of rules, time to figure out if the children are resistant or immune.

Hank's original figures run through Remy's head at night and by day. How long, how much, how often.

"Don't think we'll need that cloth, chérie."

He is rewarded with a shy smile.


	96. Tiptoes

Rogue is quiet after she gets off the phone with the mansion, having told them when to come. She's too quiet. Her whisper is like walking on tiptoes around the house, looking at everything, fingers touching, hands lingering. They linger the longest on their sleeping children in the middle of the night.

Her hand finds his. "I'll miss this," she says softly.

"We'll find a way for y' to touch them, chère."

She nods and slides into his arms. Rogue fits perfectly against him, head tucked beneath his chin, standing on tiptoes for a brief instant to kiss him there.


	97. Leaves

A/N: Here is where I had to reach for my kleenex.

* * *

Autumn leaves fall from the trees to swirl about the house and Rogue who is standing at the front gate, staring. It's early afternoon, the children are down for their naps, and Remy is staring at her from the porch. Her hands whiten on the picket gate.

She won't cry.

Remy isn't on the porch anymore. Somehow he's already with her, his warm arms pulling her into his embrace. She buries her face in the front of his coat.

"I don't want to leave," she whispers.

He hushes her. "I know, chérie. I know."

They stay like that a while.


	98. Boxes

She boxes up the last of the things they won't need for the next few days for Logan to pack onto the jet.

She looks around. So many happy memories, promises, and dreams have been fulfilled in this house.

They don't _have_ to leave.

Rogue knows that, knows that they own this house. They'll never have to give it up—not _really_.

But she also knows she can't stay. Remy and her are both fighters. This beautiful interlude was just that, and one more wish for her has yet to come true.

"This is the last of them," she says.


	99. Kisses

Time has been gentle to them these past two years, Rogue thinks, her fingers tightening on Remy's as they watch the jet fly ahead of them to Westchester. True to their word, they've made him run.

She doesn't want to realize yet that it's almost over, and she turns suddenly in Remy's arms to kiss him fiercely. It's a rush of heat when he returns the kiss as fervently.

She tries to lose herself in the familiar warmth, the flavor of him, his grip tightening on her arms, the scent of him, the touch.

For this moment, it is enough.


	100. Regrets

They spend their last night awake on the porch swing together, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. Skin against skin. Neither really knows how it will end, only that they won't.

"Do you regret it, Remy?" Rogue asks, her voice soft against the night.

His hand glides upward. Touch, not words. He bends and kisses her.

She breathes him in until she gasps to feels his love sliding under her skin to become a part of her. They hold on, tightly, determinedly, until they can barely pull apart to hear each other breathe.

"Non," he whispers.


End file.
